Waiting for the Light
by notjustabonelady
Summary: The past comes rearing it's ugly head when Booth does something he deeply regrets to Brennan. With secrets and past lives revealed, will they be able to open up once and for all or will they run? A story in three parts. Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't quite know where this fic came from, but after discovering Bones around six months ago, I'm completely addicted and in love with it and Booth/Brennan. I'm amazed how much chemistry and sparks they manage to have, it's like an explosion. So I guess that from my love for it was created this. Not the first fic I've written for Bones, but certainly the one I'm most aprehensive about as I am British (yes, for those who don't know, Doctor Who is a real British show, very popular) so please! forgive me for my slip ups. Bit of a strange fic exploring the human side of Booth and his past, while addressing some of his insecurities too. Well, I hope you sit back, read and enjoy. First of three parts, con-crit is welcome :D Dedicated to Rachel, my friend and beta and a pretty brilliant writer herself.**

Waiting for the Light

Part One

"Bones, can you please just have an open mind to the whole concept?" Booth's voice was light, showing only the slightest hint of irritation. Mostly he was full of that kind of giddy joy that always filled him when teasing his partner. This morning was no exception and although Booth had no idea how this subject had arisen, he couldn't help but wind her up until she thoroughly worked the subject until she was proved correct.

Brennan always gestured emphatically with her hands when her horse was up high and galloping at full pelt, "The concept of the relationship dynamic in that societal context would never work out Booth, the entire basis for their so-called relationship is predicated on one theory."

His eyes were light and the slight lines betrayed his age, "It's just some television show, besides I never thought you'd enjoy a science fiction series."

Pink almost tinged her cheeks and he knew he'd got her, "Just because I believe in logical science doesn't mean that a fictional show about an extraterrestrial travelling through time and space with a twenty year old blonde girl from London isn't entertaining to me. It actually contains elements that the writers base upon elements in our modern society."

"But it's Doctor Who, Bones! Only nerdy boys with pimples and emission problems watch that show on TV."

He'd certainly hit a nerve, "Booth, the ratings and demographics that the show is aimed at tell that the show is extremely popular in Britain, even if the science behind it is complete nonsense, the average viewer connects to the romantic dynamic. I disagree with the way it's been written."

"So this guy, the nine hundred year old alien falls for this young blonde girl. I wonder what he saw in her, huh?" he laughed, "Come on, Bones, it's the only part of that show that isn't for guys."

Brennan shook her head, "I vehemently disagree! They call that element the 'will they, won't they' factor in television shows. While it attracts enormous amounts of viewer attraction, it still is just used as a device to lure people into becoming fanatics. The romance is basically all based in our heads."

"Right..." Booth would never admit he'd actually seen the show. He'd never live it down at the Hoover. "So let me get this straight. There's a guy, an older, wiser extremely handsome guy who's seen things and lived with too much violence."

Brennan nodded, "In layman's terms, I suppose you could describe him like that. They call him the 'hero' in societal terms. There are roles that characters play in television shows. Usually, the 'hero' and the 'princess' are always romantically involved."

"And this girl, Rose, is the Princess?"

Brennan smiled, "I like her actually, I can relate to her. She has subverted the stereotypical female 'princess' role in the shows and fights the 'villain', she thinks of ways to aid the 'hero' instead of just being his reward as it were. It's very neo-feminist."

Booth laughed. She could be so clinical and unemotional about these things, "But Bones, they're in love." She went to speak and Booth knew she was going to say love didn't exist apart from hormones and chemicals. "He rescued her from her drudge, showed her life outside her job. It's all excitement and catching the bad guys and there's tension between them because he made her life so much better." He doesn't even care that he's not talking about the damn show. "The whole 'will they, won't they' device is just to draw in viewers, but that doesn't mean it's not real. Besides, these couples always get together in the end."

She thought about his theories for a few seconds and relented, "Yes, that is a common trend. Doesn't mean it's not irritating when they do the 'almost' kiss."

He couldn't help but drop his eyes to her lips for the barest of seconds. The diner was quiet at this time of night, but they still were in earshot of one guy. "You get irritated by 'almost' kisses?"

She sipped her coffee, "Yes, while I find the frustration, the romantic element appeals to me as a woman. I wish they'd just have sex and get it over with; it's fairly disappointing to see them get that close and then fall apart again."

He couldn't speak for a few seconds, just staring at her with mirth in his eyes and a laugh on his lips, "Oh my god, Bones, you're one of them!"

She looked genuinely confused. "One of whom?"

"A fangirl! You can't get enough of it! Oh you just wait until I tell Angela you're doe-eyed over a television show. She won't believe me!"

She was calm but he knew what she was thinking, "Please don't tell Angela. She'd tell Sweets and then I'll be subjected to rigorous psycho-somatic testing on my notion of relationships. I don't understand, anyway, why would I suddenly have the eyes of a northern red deer instead of human ones?"

"Bones, I wouldn't trade your eyes for any others."

*

They left just before midnight, both feeling incredibly anxious about being near each other. Was that just a date? Did all Bureau partners have impromptu coffee meetings at eleven at night? She was confused as to why they seemed to get along so very well, especially as Booth was an emotional person and she was hyper-logical, almost to a fault, she had conceded. All of her life had been predicated on the notion that she could not make emotional connections and metaphorically lean on another person because in the end, all one human had was themselves. Since coming to work with Booth, she'd discovered he wasn't like the stereotypical F.B.I Agent, the alpha male agency that was full of people just looking to step on anyone's hands to get another rung up the career ladder. All she'd relied on since she was fifteen was herself. Until she worked with him, she'd thought him just another Bureau jock, and she was the hand on the ladder. Or maybe she was the ladder. Temperance had never been good at maintaining and understanding metaphors.

But since she'd actually worked with him and struck up their deal, she came to realise that Booth had depth and sensitivity to him, the dedication to catching the killer rather than furthering his career appealed to her human morality complex and she'd started seeing him as someone to trust. Even though it went against all her preconceived ideas of a lone life, Temperance had come to know that Booth would always support her. She'd often entertained the fantasy of him. Sexually. His power and strength ignited the primal cortex of her hypothalamus leftover from evolution that said he'd be a good breeder. His attractiveness and fit physical stature also didn't escape her notice and he'd since been occupying her dreams more and more. She'd told herself it was just an expected physical backlash from working so closely together on very tough, emotional cases. It was to be expected that her body was betraying her mind every time he smiled at her.

The car ride back to her apartment was a comfortable silent, being so very tired and dreading interrogating their suspect tomorrow morning was proving to be a difficult subject for Booth and as a result, it rubbed off on Brennan. A violent, drunken father who had killed his own daughter and beat his wife to keep her quiet. Something that struck too close to the bone, for both of the partners. Forgetting about the case, even for a couple of hours over coffee and pie for him, had been a relief. She knew that seeing those infant bones on her lab table were too hard for him to look at without thinking of Parker. She understood. Temperance had seen too many children on her table over the years.

*

At her complex, car engine switched off, he sighed internally; he'd wished the end had never come but then nothing good lasts. "Well, goodnight Bones, I'll pick you up tomorrow morning, 8am?"

She nods and smiles politely; he can see a kind of confusion in her eyes that he knew meant she was thinking about something hard. Brennan leant over the gear shift and lightly kissed Booth's cheek, lingering ever-so-slightly. "Thanks, for taking me out."

Their eyes met just once, "My pleasure." He managed to mutter, still shocked that she'd actually kissed him. Sort of. It counted, didn't it? Chalk another one up for the Booth side.

"Night." She said, climbing out of the car and opening up the entrance hall door to her complex.

Booth just sat there, almost dumbstruck at her actions. "Right then, get it together Seeley." He murmured to himself. Tonight, all he'd be able to think about was her. How had she wriggled her way into his brain and made camp, twenty four hours a day, he had no idea. For all her faults, and sometimes she irritated and angered him, she still could make him stare at her and be in shock as to how she couldn't see what was happening between them. Of course, he'd never do anything about it but fantasizing wasn't a bad thing. Mainly he thought about those lips that had just pressed a whisper of a kiss against his cheek. He knew what she kissed like, but Booth was certain she had a lot of passion in her heart, down inside and behind those walls. She'd been through too much in her life that he would have died to protect her from, but then what would she have? She wasn't affected after his fake death but it he knew there was more to it than met the eye.

At his own place, Booth poured himself a scotch and downed it quickly. She'd occupy his mind tonight, again. Damned woman. Didn't she know what she did to him and his body? Ever since she challenged him at that shooting range, he saw that there was something amazing between them. God, she was so beautiful when she was angry. She called him on his crap, knew that he wasn't some idiotic, chauvinistic agent who used her. No, she was smarter than that. Temperance knew that she was a valuable resource to them and had the power herself. He smiled as he poured another scotch and sipped at it. His beautiful partner, he was too protective sometimes and yes, he got very envious of her dates. But he would stand in front of her as much as she would let. He'd take barrages of bullets in order to see her live that life he wanted her to. When any man looked at her the wrong way, when anyone threatened her safety, he could see nothing but white hot rage and a blaring lust for revenge. To rip their throats out and kick them until they learnt never to set an eye upon her body. "Temperance Brennan. Renowned pain my ass. Even bigger pain in my heart."

He could protect her, yes? What if he couldn't protect her from an even bigger threat? What if Booth couldn't protect her from himself?

*

Smiles rarely used to grace her lips but she'd been smiling rather a lot lately. She'd been used to sadness and being alone but one of those grins from Booth stirred her biology and she was a teenage girl, fawning over that latest crush. Brennan stretched her back and locked her front door. Pulling off her clothes and putting her soft camisole and shorts, she wondered what that suspect would say in his defence. Would he be apologetic that he murdered his own little girl? There was no reasonable doubt in her mind, forensically, that he had murdered the poor child and yet Booth still wanted to question him. A part of her brain reminded her what a successful sniper Booth had once been and entertained the notion that Booth would kill the monster, given half a chance. She certainly wouldn't object much. Temperance brushed her teeth and cleaned her face of any residual make up before her eyes found the case notes she'd brought home. There was still once slight piece of evidence that was bothering her. Logically, she knew that Johansson was a murderer, a drunk and a very violent man but that poly ethylene compound residue on her bones was haunting her. Why was she doused in a flammable chemical but not set alight? There was no evidence of scorching or burning in the soil or her remains.

Brennan sat up in bed, studying the x-rays and photographs closely. Was there something she was missing? Something like Booth said... what was it? The obscurest things are often hidden in plain sight. Was there something that she'd expected to find and when they did find it, thought nothing of it? It was possible that the flammable liquid had been ingested by the victim but that amount, it would have killed her. If she had small amounts, over a very frequent time, perhaps injected? That would certainly have immobilised her, made her extremely weak and defenceless. Bastard. Did he do this to her? Give her injections of pure distilled alcohol to shut her up, make her a doll to his torture. The girl, Jessie, the innocent eyes of youth. Temperance rubbed her eyes, nearly 1am and Booth wouldn't be awake. This would have to wait. New forensics meant that they had to search his house for proof. Another day he wasn't rotting in jail or an executioner's chair.

Booth wasn't going to take this well. Brennan refilled the evidence and placed it on her bedside cabinet, slipping under her sheets and worrying at her lip. He wasn't going to like this at all...

**A/N 2: Well... hope it worked for you! :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow, thank you to all the people who have reviewed this fic or put it on Alert, gives me a happy warm feeling in my shipper heart :D I can safely say I feel good about it now, as always nothing belongs to me. At all. Ever. Understand. Booth and Brennan belong to each other *GRINS* Gee, I'm so fuzzies right now, I could live for Bones. Erm, this chapter contains some dark themes, but nothing graphic at all really. Booth has a lot on his mind, poor man, and I hope he'll finally open up to Brennan in the end. Thank yous especially go to missmargaret85, blc and ShipperCrazed for leaving some very kind and welcomed words of review-ness. Thanks again to Rachel, my rock and my high dive board into the deep end of the swimming pool of fics. Please review if you can, that way I know I don't suck major time! Here goes nothing.. again..**

Waiting for the Light

Part Two

Booth carried the coffee and breakfast up the three flights of stairs towards Brennan's apartment; a slight happiness pervaded him now that the entire fiasco of this horrible case was finally coming to a close. Brennan had been as bad as he was, at times in capturing this murderer. Not only was he sadistic and violent, but had no remorse in his eyes. Nothing about him showed that he was apologetic for his actions. Booth had no doubt that he'd have to warn him about going near his partner today, Johansson's gaze had wandered her body sickeningly. That little piece of nothing was not going to do that again unless he wanted a broken arm or a bullet between his eyes. Preferably the latter. "Hey Bones, come on, open up, I got breakfast." His smile brightened as she opened the door.

"Morning." Her hair was pulled tight in a ponytail, her black trousers and jacket with her pale blue blouse that reflected her eyes. She was still breathtaking but he knew her mood when she was dressed like this, "You're not having pie for breakfast again, are you? I despair for your arteries."

"No, I got coffee and a fruit box for you, and a black coffee and bagel with cream cheese for me." He handed her the box and she gladly took it, "Not much better than pie but who cares, I work out."

She smiled and downed her coffee eagerly, "I don't think it works like that Booth, but thanks for bringing me breakfast, strawberries are my favourite."

He munched down a huge bite of bagel, "I know, I asked for extra."

She smiled at him, then grabbed her keys and her shoulder bag, "I've got to get to the lab early this morning, Hodgins should be there already."

They walked down the stairs just a step behind each other, "The lab? I thought we were going straight to the Hoover to interrogate Johansson? Sweets' free time was eight through ten."

She shook her head, sipping her coffee as she buckled the seatbelt inside Booth's car, "I was looking over the polyethylene evidence last night and there're two hypotheses that fit the evidence. One fits with Johansson and one doesn't."

He angrily turned the steering wheel, "You've gotta be kidding me Bones, come on, this guy murdered his daughter, it's a wrap up."

"I can't ignore evidence Booth; anyway the most likely scenario is that it links the suspect to the victim even further. It'll only strengthen our case against him."

Booth looked sideways at her, "And what if it doesn't? What if it's just some random thing and connects to some innocent person, then we'll have to let Johansson go."

Temperance seemed to relent a little, "I know, Booth but it still has to be investigated by us, there's no way around it."

Booth bit his lip and headed towards the Hoover building, "Yes there is, call Hodgins and the weird British intern of the week, get them to investigate the evidence at the lab, you and I are interrogating Johansson."

"Booth, I don't think-"

"Just do it, Bones!" He snapped at her, instantly regretting it as he saw her wince, "just call Hodgins."

Brennan dialled her cell phone, "Hodgins, it's Brennan, look I've been thinking about that polyethylene compound we found traces of. Get Mr Nigel Murray to look for higher concentrations at the top of the ulna and radial joint... the elbow, Hodgins.... yeah, I think she may have been constantly injected with it to immobilise her so she wouldn't fight back but without the external tissue, we need to be smart about proving it.... thanks so much, get back to me as soon as possible." She sighed as she slid her cell phone back into her pocket and looked at Booth, "Hodgins and the intern are looking at the chemical composition."

He glanced at her, feeling guilty for making her leave her work so she could present evidence to the suspect, "Look, I'm sorry but we have to get this guy worried, if he knows we've got him on the run, he'll cave, I know it."

"I understand, Booth."

*

Johansson was creepy to say the least. Booth stood up high as he entered the room, "Mr Johansson, I'm Special Agent Booth, this is Dr Temperance Brennan with the Jeffersonian institute."

The man smiled, sickly, his teeth were pure white and straight. Unsettling. "I remember. Dr Brennan, so good to see you again." Her back straightened but she stared him dead in the eye, "Last time I saw you, you had a black eye. I never got the chance to ask you what happened, I would so very love to hear."

"I bet you would," Booth sneered, "You like bruises, Mr Johansson? Because we think you gave your daughter a hell of a lot."

The man ignored him, looking briefly between them, "You did it to her, didn't you?" he laughed coldly, "You know, between us, you want to watch that. It's how it starts. An accident here or there, a tighter than normal hold and before you know it, you've got blood on your hands."

Booth slammed his fist down on the table, "Is that from personal experience, Mr Johansson? Is that how it started with your family?"

His eyes darkened and his jaw set. "No. I know because my father drank."

Booth could hear Sweets in his ear, "Don't give him any ammunition, Booth, he's just looking for a way to get focus away from him and onto you. Classic diversion."

He ignored the tweeting little bird in his ear, "We know about your childhood, Mr Johansson, but we're more focussed on your actions right now."

Bones leant forward, a dark and dangerous look in her eyes, "I know what you did to her. Forensics from your daughter's remains tells us the whole story. You fed her drugs to keep her quiet, injected chemicals to make her bend to your hand. Beat your wife, so badly she was scared to look into our eyes." Brennan tilted her head, "Jessie's bones had broken and re-healed too many times for anyone to count. Dermal bruising and abrasions, bone burn. I'd be willing to make an intuitive leap and say you broke your proximal phalanges on her ribs, boxer's fractures. But one day, she aggravated you," Johansson's eyes darkened, his smile fell and he inched closer to Brennan, "You forgot the drugs, probably didn't care if she screamed at you to stop. Punched her face until she couldn't see. Fractured her temple bone and smashed her head against wood. We know what you did. You sick... twisted... psychopathic... freak."

For the briefest of seconds, a small smirk graced the lips of Paul Johansson. Smile that touched the back of his teeth pointed and white. He leant closer, hand braced on the table, "Temperance. You have no idea..." His hand shot up, grabbing her throat, latching on like a leech and sucking her air from her lungs. She pulled him toward her with all her strength and twisted his arm with a sickening crunch, her world was blackened slightly, distant sounds of Booth's shouting and a gun in his hand poised between Johansson's eyes.

"Touch her and you're dead." Barely concealed malice tinted his voice as Brennan released her hold, finding it harder to breathe with his weight struggling. "Up."

"Oh mister boss man, F.B.I, you're the sick ones!" Johansson yelled as Booth slapped cuffs on his wrist, "I wasn't kidding you know, better watch giving that piece of meat a black eye, you'll end up just like me."

Booth glanced at Brennan, the welts of bruises already forming above her windpipe, "From where I am, buddy, you're the sick freak." He leaned in to whisper in his ear, "If you've hurt her, I'll make damn sure you fry."

He pushed the man towards two handler agents and breathed, walking over to Bones, putting his arm around her and guided her into a chair, "Hey, Bones, it's okay, it's over."

She coughed, her throat clenched and wheezy, "Yeah but he still hasn't confessed to killing Jessie. Why was he arrested?"

"Assaulting an officer, Bones, there's no way I'm letting you near him again."

Brennan looked up, her vision clearer, "What? Let me? Booth, I'm the lead witness and forensic expert, it's highly unlikely that I won't see him again or be able to avoid him."

"I don't care," he wanted to rip the guy's head off and spit down his neck, "Get Cam to do it, you're not going up there. Now come on, we gotta get you to a hospital."

"No! No hospitals, I am perfectly capable. He simply restricted my breathing for thirty seconds and has caused some bruising, if he'd crushed my wind pipe, I'd be blue and on the floor half-dead right now!" She stood up shakily still but strong and walked out of the room.

"That's what I saw when he hurt you." He muttered to himself.

*

Brennan peered at her neck in the ladies' room, the welts were sore and she suspected dermal abrasions and bruising would be present for nearly two weeks. His grip had been perplexingly hard, she was barely able to counter act his attack and subdue him when normally she was strong and reflexive enough to attack her attacker before they came at her. She had been exhausted recently, this case had taken its toll on her energy and her mind, not to mention the constant small disagreements with Booth were growing. Brennan splashed cold water on her neck, knowing that early decrease of swollen tissue would help the healing process and make Booth not worry about her as much as he had been. "You know, for a former sniper you're not very quiet, Booth."

The broad figure stepped away from the confines of the door, "Well it has been a while Bones, maybe I'm losing my touch."

"It's the physicality of all movements, genetically our brains have to repeat and keep repeating actions again and again to remember them sufficiently, even a few months away from the repetition of a habit that has been practised for years can break it."

Booth smiled and flipped his poker chip, "You're probably right, like always. I'm still a good shot, though."

She dried her neck with a paper towel and wondered why Booth's body had stiffened. Was he cold? "Yes you are an excellent marksman," she dumped the towels in the trash can and walked towards the door, Booth tagging behind, "Mainly because since you've become an agent, you still have the instinct to kill and shoot to kill."

His tone was light, tinged with amused laughter, "Geez, make me sound like a monster, Bones!"

*

Booth leant against the bar, looking out into a braying crowd for the woman who drove him to insanity and back. She could at least have let him do the driving. He knocked back the scotch, unwilling to admit to himself why he was drinking more lately. Since hockey and concussions and Perrotta. It was mad, what ideas he entertained in his head at night but they all were occupied by her. His Bones. She'd murder him if he ever called her that, possessive and everything. He didn't care. It was frightening, thinking of himself hurting her like Johansson had done to his daughter. Okay, bit of a stretch but Booth could see his father in that evil bastard. Even the slightest glint and he was back to being thirteen and taking another literal belting to stop him from hurting Jared. Sacrifices made to protect loved ones, scars taken and bullets caught in chests to save them. He knew where he scars lie.

He poured another scotch - was it his sixth - and downed it quickly as he saw his Bones sidle up to some nameless guy, dirty dancing. The way her body moved around his, the curve of her hip or the pink tinge on her cheeks. The bruises on her neck. Music was shallow and sensual, they were getting closer and his patience was wearing thinner with her. How could she let that guy touch her, nobody had the right to touch her! Booth sat up suddenly and his head spun, gripping the bar. Something was angry, inside him, deep down he wanted to take her away, take her home and lock her up. Irrationality, she'd call it. He loved her, had no right to love her, had already caused her pain, marked her skin. Made her eye bloom a black and purple, she'd hidden beneath make up. His mother used to do that.

He quickly shot back another round of burning alcohol as her fingers danced up the guy's chest and around his neck. They were getting closer. Booth needed to get her out, out of there or she'd get hurt again. Another man who'd left her, used and abused, another time. She was being stupid, naive! This guy wasn't good enough for her, nobody would be. Booth's simmering rage was felt in every step he took towards that dance floor. Eyes dark and feral, looking for a reason to point and shoot. He was an animal, she was his mate.

He suddenly, swiftly grabbed her by the arm, wrenching her out quickly and pulling her outside, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Bones stared at him, incredulous at his arrogance, "Me?! What about you? What was that, Booth?!"

He nearly snarled at her as civilians stared at them and he pulled her into an alley, "I was looking out for you! How the hell can you let that guy treat you like a piece of meat?!"

His grip was too strong, "That doesn't make any sense, are you drunk, Booth?"

"Not drunk enough to let you get taken advantaged of in a club, you got any humanity in there, Bones or is it all dry and brittle?"

She hid her pain as his fingers dug into her arm, "Get off me, I'm going to go back into that club and dance with Leon, it's my life, my rules, not yours."

He backed them against a bare brick wall, his skin pricking with the rough edge, "See, that's where you're wrong, Bones. You're my partner and partners don't let the other get treated like a street walker!"

Her breath nearly caught, "Stop this, you're intentionally saying these abusive things so that I'll become upset and go home. It's not gonna work, Booth."

He pushed her into the brick and her heart skipped, "This what you want, a random guy in a dirty place, no names, no words?" he gripped her harder, coming closer to her lips and she could smell the alcohol on his breath. "I could be that, Bones, but you're just cold enough to not care."

Her upper arms compressed with pain signals, her brain caught between lust and fear, it was too much, so much, "Please, stop this!" she whispered, "Let me go!"

Booth was tense, anger and desire bubbled at the surface. "I'll never let you go, I won't." He lifted her slightly, "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to let me go! Please, god, Booth, you're hurting me!"

Ice poured down his back and he froze, she burnt him and he leapt away from her. "Oh fuck, god, please... shit." He muttered, staring at her as she rubbed her arm to get the blood flowing again. "Bones-"

"Don't." She said, running a hand through her hair, not a scrap of any emotion on her face. Blank. He'd hurt her. Intentionally. "I'm driving you home, you're drunk." She walked to her car, knowing he'd follow. He didn't say a word, just stared at his hands. She didn't know what to think, what to do except get him home and maybe he'd be normal tomorrow morning. He was so still, so dark it clouded over him. She started the engine as she blinked back her feelings. Walls rebuilt after Berlin. The ride was deadly silent, neither saying a word and focussing on what had happened. All Brennan wanted was him safe, then he could explain to her in the morning, he'd apologise and she'd forgive him. Not forget. Never forget.

She opened the car door for him, shutting it back again, too quiet to be normal. Everything was wrong, everything had turned and skewed. A different path in their road and this one had spikes. Booth followed her like a victim, trailing behind with head hung low and shoulders slumped dangerously. Brennan didn't know her memories of homes she'd been in would remind her so much of this pain. She took the key from his fake rock, suppressing the searing image of his naked wet body and opened the door to get him inside, quickly. She watched as he climbed into bed, drunk and wrong. Was he still the Booth she trusted after this? Turning off all the lights, she slipped onto his couch and sat down wearily. One tear trickled slowly down her cheek. Another and another, until huge silent heaves wracked her body. She ached. She hurt. She cried.

**A/N: you know you want to read the next part... come on, leave me a please and I'll post soon! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow! Thank you all so much for the great response to this fic, I'm so happy! *grins!* I'm going to promise to respond to all your reviews personally very soon, as I'm working on a special Valentine's Day fanfic for Brennan and Booth to sink their teeth into. As always, I don't own a thing, although I wish I owned a certain Booth :P heh he's a dark hunk of salty goodness. Dedicated sweetly to my beta, all the people who've even glanced at this fic and liked what they saw. I hope you've enjoyed the ride. So here goes nothing, Part Three....**

Waiting for the Light

Part Three

Brennan's eyes shot open at the sound of the creak. She'd fallen asleep, fitfully, on Booth's couch, curled in on herself like she'd found too many of the victims on her table. She wasn't going to be a victim again. She glanced at the clock and noted it was near ten in the morning. The whole city buzzed outside and yet here she was, alone and very sore. Gingerly, she tried stretching her arms and wrists, noting how the joining bones in her wrists were particularly grating today. She must have been wrenched. Bones straightened her legs and peered into Booth's open bedroom door. She wanted a shower, almost desperately but knew that it would wake him and they'd have irrational conversations in which scenario he yelled at her. She didn't want to have to hurt him if he accosted her again. Temperance crept into the kitchen and ran the cold water tap, splashing it on her eyes, washing her hands with his antibacterial soap. She remembered that Rebecca insisted he use it on Parker, preventing him from getting any infections. Bones smiled as she also remembered telling Rebecca that exposing Parker to as little infectious diseases and germs would ultimately weaken his immune system, the body needed to fight off small amounts of germs so it could acclimatise to them and obliterate them all if need be. That had shut her up.

Brennan dried her face and hands on some kitchen towel and checked on Booth for one final time. She could compartmentalise her grief, her anger, her ... other feelings. But this? Trust was meant to be there between partners, between friends. Temperance had no idea what to feel, what to say or do. All she knew is that she wanted to get as far away from him as possible right that second. She needed to pull off these clothes and climb into a searing hot shower, wash it away. Too many bad memories, Booth had pulled from the deepest recesses of her frontal cortex and forced her to confront again and again. She could smell the acrid cigarette smoke at the end was pushed into her skin. She could feel the icy touch of the porcelain as her head was slammed into a sink. She could taste the copper of blood on her lips after she defied them once too many. Bones could be everything. Temperance was nothing.

*

Booth woke silently, noting every ache in his body as he had been made to do every morning in the army. It became habit, cataloguing injuries as if they were items on a grocery list that were sadly essential. He found the creaking of footsteps in the room just out of sight and swallowed. He couldn't remember, god, couldn't think of what had happened. There was just a white blank and intense anger, so fierce that he hadn't ever experienced. At least not since days of witnessing torture and violence. Not since she'd been beaten to blood and pulp in New Orleans while trying to identify the dead. That was when Booth had snapped, protected his Bones to the death if necessary. He would have killed. He had. Taken bullets, taken beatings and taken her from car wrecks. She was Bones. The bedroom was dark, all light shut out by thick blinds and drapes; he was such a light sleeper it was difficult not to rise with the sun unless it was blocked from him. Days on end, he might never know the sun existed unless it filled him with warmth. He rubbed his raw eyes chugged from the glass of water on his nightstand. It was 10am but it felt like he hadn't slept at all. It was fuzzy, snowy, and crippled inside his memory. He could feel shame, but had no idea why it was there. Another creak came from outside, louder and quicker footsteps as if someone were rushing to flee.

"Bones?" He climbed out of bed, dressed only in his pants and leaned out of his doorframe like ivy, creeping upwards. "What? Why are you here?"

She turned around sharply and he swear he caught her eyes fearful before her stoicism was turned on, "I fell asleep on your couch last night, I apologise if I woke you."

She turned and that was when he saw them. All she had was her halter top from the night before. Every mark that marred her skin was visible. He'd known those bruises on abuse victims that came into the Hoover looking for help. "What the hell are these, Temperance?"

She cringed slightly, imperceptibly, "They're contusions, they're an injury to biological tissue beneath the surface dermis in which the capillaries are damaged and allow blood to seep into the surrounding tissue, creating marks. Usually black, blue and purple, fading to a yellow green."

"Finger bruises, Bones." He came up to her slowly, gently, delicately tracing the marks with his eyes. "Who did this? Someone must have hurt you."

She smiled lightly, but stepped back, "Really, it was no bother. Just a drunken guy who put his hands on me too tight. I remember that I, I think the correct terminology is, beat his ass."

There were her eyes. Those normally sparkling sapphire ocean blue were blocked by some force that scared him, "Bones, tell me. Who was he?"

She knew she had lost, all she wanted was to leave, "You don't want to know, Booth, just leave it, they're simple bruises. Not wounds or abrasions."

He caught her wrist as she made to leave and her breath caught the barest hint of fear, "Tell me."

She glanced at his face, uttering just one word that brought him down, "You."

*

He didn't know how long it took him to understand what she was saying. Simple words and phrases, promises of retribution and denial, or apology, were deemed useless. Pointless. Booth had the cold, hard truth staring him in the face, pummelling his eyes. Purple, black and blue. He never wanted to see her wear such colours, never wanted to, never. It made him heave dry vomit and bile burning his throat as sent by purest red. He had hurt, grabbed her, scared her beyond what he thought he would do under duress. "I..." words were always useless. He was led by his heart, but he didn't deserve one. "Temperance."

She couldn't break her gaze from him. "They'll heal Booth."

"Will you?" he managed, collapsing into some chair. Hard and cold, numbing his body. She slid down into the couch, her normal quizzical look, he loved that look. It made him think of her curiosity. Booth couldn't see her face now. Wrong.

She bit her lip, and stared at him, her head tilted slightly like he were remains, "They always heal. My muscles have developed a stronger resistance to bruising and the blood vessels are more free-flowing due to my diet so I heal remarkably quickly."

"I still hurt you."

She nodded slowly, "You did, but it wasn't the same."

Now he looked at her, confused, "The same as what?" Everything about him was screaming to go on bended knee and beg her or run away and never let her hurt again because of him.

Brennan thought for her phrasing, "I like to think that I know you very well, Booth. I know your past. What your father is or was like. It's not the same."

He scoffed and looked away, his hand on the arm of the seat, twitching, "You can't know that, Bones. You never knew him."

"That is correct but anthropologically speaking, children are influenced by parents in two major types. One, the child learns behaviour from the parent and emulates it. This is, what I think, you're thinking you are. Booth, you're not the first, you're the second. You saw what your father did and you knew it was wrong. That it hurt people he loved, that you loved. So you protect. That is who you are, what you always have been."

He wanted to pull her into his lap and cradle her against him, "I'm so sorry for hurting you. But I have to take responsibility for my actions. I could have broken your arm if I wanted to." Something was confusing him, he had a killer hangover, yeah but nothing was aching, "Why didn't you defend yourself against me when I came at you, Bones? Why didn't you stop me?"

She looked away, tears now pricking at the back of her eyes, not again, "I... I couldn't. I know that I would feel ashamed and confused if I hurt you. That's what you feel, isn't it?"

Too much. Too much right. He nodded slowly, "Yeah. You know, Sweets would be proud of you Bones, with the psychological assessment."

She smiled, "Hey, no insults. That was merely an observation based on personal experiences."

They were quiet as a small smile crept onto Booth's lips, "You know, he wasn't always like he was, my dad. He could be cool, the sort of father that showed you how to throw a good pass and block an opponent's move. But then, my mom had an affair," her eyes widened, "and that's when he changed. Maybe he was scared of her leaving him, I dunno, but he changed. So quick. I was thirteen when he first belted me across the face for watching movies on a school night. Absolutely stank of whiskey," his eyes glazed as he watched her face contort in anger and sadness, "By the time I was fifteen, there wasn't an inch of me that hadn't had a bruise at some point," his eyes dashed to her arms and back to his hands, "I protected mom and Jared as much as I could. I prayed a lot, I guess. More so than any other teenage kid. I don't know, it just didn't stop until he died a few years ago. Liver thing, I can't remember caring much."

She couldn't take it anymore. Temperance placed her hand over his and lightly wrapped them together, "Thank you for telling me. But that doesn't change my mind. I've seen what you feel. I've seen what you do for people who need help, how you're a protector. How you've saved my life on numerous occasions where my stubbornness put me in danger. And I know you, Booth. I know you. You were angry at me, at the world, I don't know but you are not your father. Scientifically, everybody is unique."

He had to kiss her. Kiss her lips. Kiss her, kiss her. He couldn't. "Yeah, good old reliable science." He could feel her pulse beneath his palm, her tiny wrists that must be sore, "Let me help you..." he murmured as their hands disconnected. Booth rummaged through his freezer, grabbing a dish towel and wrapping ice inside it. Kneeling before her, he placed it gently on the abrasions on her arms, alternating. She stared at him. Intense. Searing. Mesmerising. That feeling of soothing cool, spreading through her body, cut by heat. "Feel better?"

"Yeah..." she placed her hand on his shoulder and felt his muscle. "The ice constricts the nerves endings and-"

"Numbs the pain." He smiled, eyes darker, softer, "I know, Bones."

She wanted him, that primal part of her brain that told her to lean and kiss his soft lips. "I want to tell you something but, promise me, you won't turn into Alpha Male, hero protector on me? It's not what I want."

He kept icing her arms, his brows crossed in confusion, "Yeah, course. I promise."

She swallowed and breathed in as the ice chilled her flesh, "When I was fifteen, the foster care system was radically different to how it is now. Very different. There were no such things as background checks, not legitimate ones and it was easy to fool the government and take in foster children for the money allowances. So, the families I was housed with weren't all good." She shifted, almost terrified at what she'd feel, "I was in three violent homes, out of eleven in total." Brennan noted him stiffening but he kept his gentle ministrations on her arms, "Two were nothing really, just the occasional slap or belting for insolence, nothing-"

"Not nothing, Bones. It's never nothing."

She laughed lightly and smiled, "It was okay, really, not a huge deal. But there was one home, the Markson's, which I went to, was a nightmare. Figuratively, of course. The woman was kind enough, very timid and afraid. You could see it in her body language as soon as look at her, Booth. I was scared for her and she was scared for me. They didn't have any other children but he was fired by his company two weeks after I got there. It wasn't much at first, the same as the others, a slap or two, but then he got worse. He lay around the house, out of work, I was basically their only source of income and that wasn't much. Once, he caught me, looking at pictures of my parents and Russ, real late night, going on two in the morning." Her eyes became distant, it's nothing, I swear, please, I'm sorry, "He tore them up, in front of my eyes and dumped them in the trash."

Booth wanted to kill this guy already. But there was something in her face, how she was holding herself that told him she couldn't be cut off any more. He listened intently, carefully padding the ice on her arms. She was so fragile, really, but so strong. Amazing.

She stared at his neck, wondering what to phrase her words, shape them, as, "It was very painful, almost physically so. I hit him, punched him square in the jaw." She caught his proud smile, "But I was only fifteen, no real power behind it. He barely flinched. That rage, he beat me with, if you understand. Backhandedly slapped my face, split my lip. Slammed me against the bedroom wall and screamed, 'you'll never see them again. Why would they want a garbage kid? Pathetic.' And my head went blank. I must have collapsed on the floor because then I remember him kicking my ribs, felt one break and it was hard to breathe. Next morning, his wife, Karen, she had wrapped my torso in bandages, I'd guess she had a lot of practice. I healed slowly, then he couldn't stop himself. Two months, I was there. Living with them, I'd never been so relieved to get out."

"God." Was all he could say, mesmerised by her tears, by her eyes, by her bruises, "I'm sorry that happened to you."

"Yeah. But it was never as bad as yours Booth. He wasn't my father, wasn't my mother or my brother. I just wanted you to know, that... I know."

Booth knelt still, before her. He dumped the ice on the table behind him and pulled her into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around her, "We're safe. I'll never hurt you again, I promise. Temperance..." she had encased him in her body, clinging to him for every bit of strength she had left. "Thank you."

Tears streamed silently down her face, "Booth, I... you know, about the stories? About that TV show?"

He broke back a little, to cup her face delicately, "Yeah, I remember, about the roles?"

She nodded, "I think we're both the protectors, you know? I shelter the dead and you protect the living."

He smiled and run his fingers through her hair, placing a small, daring kiss on her lips, "No, Bones, I protect us."

God, when he'd kissed her, that split second, everything else was inconsequential. Inanimate. She wanted it again. Now. Brennan stared at his lips and tasted him, frightened, "I..."

"Don't. I'm not leaving you."

She grinned and pulled his head back in, their lips fastening, "You're not going anywhere."

He pulled away slightly, "Bones, I-"

"I know."

----------------- END----------------

**Well, what did you think, guys, did I get it right? All you gotta do it click that little green button and leave me some nice words :D THANK YOU!**


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